


today,

by halfaday



Series: whumptober 2019 [3]
Category: SF9 (Band)
Genre: M/M, is it necessary to tag a character death when a character is dead from the beginning, promise this isn’t sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:06:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22587613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfaday/pseuds/halfaday
Summary: Sanghyuk would have wanted to know.
Relationships: Kim Seokwoo | Rowoon/Lee Sanghyuk | Dawon
Series: whumptober 2019 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1618456
Comments: 5
Kudos: 52





	today,

**Author's Note:**

> prompt 13: adrenaline

There is a stark contrast between the cheers that were echoing in the stadium and the silence that reigns over the cemetery — a stark contrast between the shades of black he can barely discern, and the bursts of colours that only one hour ago were still blinding his eyes. Of course, he's still under the charm of victory, can feel it flow through his veins and pump his heart loudly — but as he advances slowly, absentmindedly reading the names on graves that have now become familiar, stepping exactly where he has stepped before, Seokwoo knows the euphoria that composes glory has retired, leaving its place for solemnity.

The light the few street lights cast upon the alleys is dim, a warm yellow that does not really fit the overall sobriety of the place, almost making Seokwoo feel like he's walking out on the streets rather than past deceased persons, calmly looking around the neighbourhood rather than counting down the alleys to the eighteenth one. It's a joyful yellow, Seokwoo thinks as he passes by the grave of the great Lee, still as barren as before — Sanghyuk, always a fan of misplaced emotions in serious situations, would probably have approved: nothing quite like joy creeping in the graveyard, painting the ghosts of the buried into colours their past deeds abhor; turning a port of call into a home, embracing the ever-present regrets with arms of tranquility.

 _Perfect timing for untimely emotions,_ Seokwoo can hear him say, the memory softly pulling at his heart, and he stops, pulling out his phone to take one, two pictures of the peculiar scenery. Keeping them for later — for the next day when he wakes and thinks this visit through, doesn't remember the emotions he felt as he walked up to Sanghyuk's grave; for much later when he feels lonely and every picture he's taken since Sanghyuk's died is as clear as day, almost makes him feel like he's still there. For when his emotions, perfectly and horribly timed, need to spill out of his system, and onto memories that cannot be grasped.

Sanghyuk's grave is fifth from the left, which means the warm, sunny yellow barely reaches him, only spills on the little corner of his tombstone, where he once tried to stick a very ugly tattoo from a chewing-gum a cousin of his had given him. Seokwoo isn't too sure how Sanghyuk would feel about that, now that the tattoo has been erased by the rain — he knows without a doubt that he would argue about how unwelcoming and _not-him-at-all_ this would all seem, but Seokwoo personally doesn't mind; feeling like the light itself is giving him privacy, letting the darkness shield him from the indiscreet eyes of time itself, from the life that goes on outside the graveyard. It feels safe, here, feels like the kind of peace Seokwoo always looks for — the one that Sanghyuk, no matter how good he was at faking everything, was never able to find.

The adrenaline, the surge of energy that still ran in Seokwoo's veins as he asked for his mother's car key and drove off from university is most definitely gone now, pushed to a corner of his mind by the different atmosphere, and it's with a quiet grace that Seokwoo bends down, one knee coming to rest on the grass as he lays his bouquet of glory upon the slab of marble, the moon his only witness of this rendez-vous. The flowers are a little wet, look slightly out of shape after being carried here and there, to the lockers' room and held against Seokwoo's chest, but their poor state is indiscernible in the dark, and Seokwoo knows that, even under the light of the day, it would not matter.

'It is the thought that counts,' Sanghyuk had said, the first time Seokwoo had given him a gift, a pretty lousy thing that had seemed to be much more when he'd bought it — had said again, when Seokwoo had brought him flowers during his second stay at the hospital; a colourful bouquet that hadn't been able to withstand the rain. 'The rest is unimportant. The beauty that I see is the one you give to the gift, what it means and how much it matters to you.'

Seokwoo was never quite sure he agreed with the mindset, still thinks there is some wrongs in thinking this way — some things are ugly and useless, no matter how practical and beautiful you want them to be; are simply bad gifts, no matter how caring the thought behind them is — but, as he looks at the flowers, their fragile petals still, almost contrasting with the white of the marble; thinks of what the bouquet means to him, and how proud he is to have it, he sees the rights, temporarily understands the idea fully. It isn't something he ever asked for, hasn't cost him a cent — but in a way, it has cost more: the fruit of his hard work, the result of blood, sweat, and tears. A synonym of his victory — his most prized possession right now, even more precious than the golden cup none can ever take home. It is his, result of a hard work Sanghyuk encouraged but could never witness — once more something he couldn't see through the end; a bud his rays shone on that only bloomed once the night came. But how great it is now that it has fully blossomed; and Seokwoo doesn't care about Sanghyuk only existing in his heart — this grave is his and his alone, and he knows that even in the afterlife, no matter how still his heart might be, Sanghyuk would want to know.

'Sanghyuk,' he says, voice just a little too weak, and he clears his throat, straightens himself up just a bit. 'Sanghyuk, hey. I know it's an ungodly time for me to come here, but… that didn't really matter back then, and I know that even now it won't.'

He pauses, ponders on how to word his thoughts, how to express himself coherently — as always doesn't know how, and decides he'll just speak and follow the thread created, like he's always done around Sanghyuk.

'Sanghyuk, I won. Well, _we_ won — the team won. We had a ceremony, we were given the cup… First place, Sanghyuk. We were- we _are_ first place. First place! Can you imagine?'

Excitement has him suddenly lighting up, talking a little faster and louder, confidence bubbling up in his heart. Oh, how Sanghyuk would be proud.

'It was insane- oh my god, you would have loved it. It was so close to being a loss — I managed to score two goals, but- it's all thanks to Youngkyun, you know? We were just about to be done for, just about to give up — then he scored and made us all winners. He was so happy, you should- I wish you'd seen him. He was just beaming. I mean, we all were; we all are. But, ah… I wish you'd been there.'

There is a light breeze, suddenly picking up, stroking Seokwoo's skin with the lightest touch, and Seokwoo marks a pause, lets himself enjoy the ghostly graze of nature on his cheek, closing his eyes and remembering everything — all at once — seeing and hearing and feeling everything.

'I scored two goals,' he says, quieter, calmer. 'I know I've already said it, but- I… I'd like to say it again. They weren't spectacular, but I'd like to think I did a pretty good job. Hey, victory is thanks to me too. It's thanks to all of us.'

There is no answer that comes, of course — but Seokwoo has come to enjoy the silence, has come to appreciate doing this. He sits down, just on the edge of the slab of marble, like Sanghyuk used to do back when he wasn't yet confined to his room. Seokwoo used to say it was disrespectful to the grave, that it was a bad habit — but since Sanghyuk's death, he's found himself doing it, finding comfort in doing what he used to witness, in the sense of closeness it creates. Sanghyuk's heart is forever still now — but Seokwoo's still beats, and it always found solace in being near its other half, the one that, however weak and withering it were, completed it perfectly — and though now might be more pretend than truth, Seokwoo finds peace in being near the heart that once lived.

So he speaks again — and again — talks about his two goals, and describes them, talks about how Youngkyun saved the day, how loud the cheers were as the game ended, how stupid he must have looked with tears in his eyes and a bouquet that looked out of place with his green jersey, how nothing felt _—_ _feels —_ real.

'I wish you'd been there,' he says once more, and repeats a thousand more times, as he recalls and recounts everything, as his words and thoughts make him go off on tangents, on things that happened he hasn't yet told Sanghyuk. There is so much to say — so much that happened — so much that made him think of Sanghyuk. He talks, and talks, and talks, just like he used to do when he was with Sanghyuk, in his garden, his kitchen, on the counter-top in-between kisses, on the lone chair of his desk as Sanghyuk did his homework on his bed, at the cinema of the hospital during a boring movie, in his hospital room, holding his hand and pushing away the elephant in the room with his words, giving Sanghyuk's life the fun and banality it'd started lacking. He talks, just like he used to do when he wanted to cover, bury the hideous shape of death six feet under, far from Sanghyuk and his tender soul — just like he used to do when it was just the two of them, and he wanted to fill the void between them. He talks, nonsense like when he felt he needed to say as much as he could before it would be too late — and everything else, stories, jokes, encounters; that, just like before, he wanted to share with Sanghyuk — just like how he shared his heart, just like how they shared happiness.

And there is no answer that comes — none that will ever come anymore, but Seokwoo finds peace in the breeze that embraces him, in the constantly-cold slab of marble he sits on, in the memories this place, Sanghyuk, have given him. Sanghyuk's heart is still, shall always be — but his memory lingers, and it gifts Seokwoo, along with incommensurate love, a peace that was never found in life, that only now spreads its wings and, unable to find an owner, decides to reside in Seokwoo's hand — a newfound strength, telling him to go on — for Sanghyuk shall always be by his side, willing to listen.


End file.
